


flightless birds

by helloearthlings



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, POV Second Person, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloearthlings/pseuds/helloearthlings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You fit together; like she was made for you and you were made for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	flightless birds

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this is a bit nonsensical, hope you enjoy!

Her kisses taste like red wine.

She was drinking it earlier, at the feast, letting it stain her pretty pink lips that curve upwards in smiles just for you. They make your heart race, those smiles, as your unsteady hands pour the liquid into her glass. She knows what her smiles do to you, takes a pleasure in it that is half vindictive and half sweet, just like she is.

She kisses you deeply and fully, in a way that makes your knees go weak, and you melt into her skin, pliant under her skilled fingers, pale in the moonlight in her bedchambers. You fall backwards and she follows you down.

She’s the most beautiful woman you have ever seen, probably will ever see, with her sheath of ebony hair and milky complexion. The perfect contrast of light and dark. Your breath catches every time.

But why would she look twice at you, the serving girl with hair too curly, skin too dark, dress too plain, and purse too empty? You convince yourself that it could never happen, the ward and the maid, and you almost believe yourself.

When she kisses you for the first time, though, it’s not a surprise, because a part of you, deep down inside yourself, knew. You knew.

You fit together; like she was made for you and you were made for her.

Her kisses taste like red wine.

But they also taste like fire.

The fire that dances furiously in her soul, a fire consumes her every thought and action. She’s alight with it, this furious rage that makes her so human and so broken.

You want to tame the fire, give her peace, but at the same time, the fire is what makes her who she is. It gives her soul and strength, and it’s why you love her so.

It’s going to destroy her, though, those flames that dance higher and higher with every passing day. Someday, she’s going to be nothing more than a pile of ashes.

You want to stop it, but you can’t. The fire, the exhilaration, the darkness that is every part of her, especially the beautiful ones. You want to stop it from taking her, stealing her away, but you could never.

She is the fire.

The fire is her.

And one day, the beauty is gone, and the fire is all that is left of her, only it’s sweeping and angry now, no longer a thing that needs your caring and tender touches, but a huge, unaltered cannon of rage, and no one can stop her now.

Not even you.

So you serve Camelot, you serve as a queen, even though you know that it’s her and her blazing flames that deserve to be on this throne, not you and your too curly hair, too dark skin, too plain dresses, and too empty purse, pretending you’re in love with the golden-haired king and not with the raven-haired witch.

You miss her.

You miss her red wine kisses.

But most of all, you miss her fire.

Because in her great warpath, the first thing she destroyed was you.


End file.
